by Greg Curtis
“And last, for the moment, there's Thomas the Terrier. He is young yet, only fifteen, but he was born with a great energy. Far more than normal. He can run like the wind, and he climbs everything in sight, and never seems to slow down. In fact sitting still may be the only thing he can't do.”
“For the moment?” Kyriel asked the somewhat embarrassing question. Or at least it would seem so to her. Edouard had lived through the embarrassment all his life, so it caused him no great bother any longer.
“Our father has wed six wives and has six children by them. Each marriage lasts only a few years. Just long enough it seems to father another child. Then it's off to the lord justices for another divorce and then the hunt for a new wife begins. Always too it seems, for a younger wife.”
For a while they had thought – they had hoped – that it was over. That the ram had given up his marrying ways. After Thomas had been born to Derys there had been a long period where their father had married no one. Thomas was now fifteen with no younger siblings. But then along had come Cassandra and the cycle had started again.
“Three months ago he wed for the seventh time, to a young woman by the name of Cassandra of House Foren, and there are whispers that she is already with child. He has just passed his seventy second birthday by the way, and she has not yet turned twenty.”
Which meant that his stepmother was in fact ten years younger than him. Though that wasn't what bothered him so much. He actually quite liked Cassandra. He'd even tried to help her find her place in the family. It was the image of her and his father sharing intimacies that tore at his sensibilities. She was a young woman with her whole life ahead of her. His father though still in rude good health, was at a very different stage of life.
“And so in due course a new child of the House will be born. And the wits will find a new name for him or her. My father will soon have children younger than his grandchildren, and that child will have nephews and nieces older then him or her and the bards will never stop making up bawdy songs about it.”
There was a reason that his father was often known as the Ram. It should have been an embarrassment – it had been for many years, especially whenever he visited an alehouse – but these days it was just a fact of life. Edouard had become used to being privately mocked.
And in all honesty the reason House Barris was often the subject of derision began with his father, not the children. Left Hand to the king he most certainly was, and he did a fine job of keeping the kingdom running smoothly. But always his personal failings would be mentioned in the same breath as his achievements by those who spoke of him. And when he passed the scandal would probably not end. Edouard had long believed that Marcus more than any others of his children shared the same character as their father and would share the same sort of life. The bards would never run short of seedy tales to tell thanks to the two of them.
“Is it not also said that the Count never truly leaves his wives? That they continue to live with him after the marriage has ended?”
Edouard groaned quietly. He had heard that charge many times before. Too often in the alehouses and taverns when the cider was flowing and the bards were looking for some coins to be tossed their way. They made up endless songs about the Ram and his flock. In fact the bards were fond of using the word harem.
“It is said, but it is not true. Or at least not in the way that the wits would suggest. The divorces are final. The justices' demands satisfied. However Barris' Estate is a large walled ground with several buildings, and the manor house itself has four wings and four levels. The divorces are amicable and because our father chooses for his children to be raised by their mothers but never to be far from his side, each of the ex-wives has her own private quarters.”
That being true Edouard knew that there was some occasional bed hopping in the house between the Count and his ex-wives. In fact he was certain that his own mother Laurine had occasionally sought out his father's bed since the divorce. It made for some indelicate conversations around the dining table from time to time. Another reason he had decided to make a home for himself elsewhere.
“But you have not married?”
Kyriel surprised him with her question. Not simply because it was obvious that he had no wife. No woman of station would live in a fort as rough as his. But because he would have thought that she would understand his station in life. He was a minor son. He would not inherit. And therefore his value as a husband to the other houses was negligible. On top of that his father would have to approve any marriage he might consider. And the Ram would approve of very few. Not unless they served the purposes of the House of Barris. Which was why he had been upset when his eldest daughter had wed a mere soldier behind his back.
“It has not been my lot in life.” Edouard put it simply, not wanting to go into the details of his personal life. Or the tragedy. Some days he thought he would like to have a wife. Maybe even children. But he knew that was not to be his destiny. Not a wife he would be permitted to choose for himself anyway. And besides, what woman would accept him as he was?
“An interesting family.”
Kyriel, perhaps guessing his discomfort, turned the conversation away from where it had been going with her comment. But she wasn't completely successful. Nor was her choice of words convincing. Interesting was a polite word Edouard thought. Scandalous would have been a more honest one.
“A family of both great achievements and a few unfortunate flaws.” It was the only way Edouard had ever found to describe them and it was probably woefully inadequate. But how else would you describe them? Certainly Edouard had never found another way.
However he was tired of having his family discussed for the moment. And since his guests seemed to be in a talkative mood, he wondered if he might finally get a few of his own questions answered.
“But surely that is true of many families. Not least the family of Lady Tyrel. Demonesses, dryads and Tenarri? I had not realised that her handmaidens were being drawn from so many peoples and so far afield.”
“A criticism?”
Kyriel smiled sweetly at him and he immediately knew he was getting no answers from her this evening. Typical. They came and stayed with him for some open ended period of time, pushing the boundaries of good manners, but he didn't complain. They cast aspersions on his family and his life, and he said nothing. But ask a simple question and suddenly he was in the wrong. Then again maybe it hadn't been such a subtle question after all.
“Never! An observation only.” Edouard knew he had overstepped, however slightly, and that there would be no point in continuing the conversation. From this point on it could only go downhill. He had spent enough time in the company of the two women to know that. Marcus wouldn't care about such things. In fact he didn't, and he was normally happy to push his questions until the two women retired for the night. Edouard sometimes envied that directness in him. But he couldn't be so bold in such things, and he knew that the longer they spoke the more he would end up apologising for his words. He was getting tired of that. But no more he discovered was he in the mood to be belittled or judged. Not in his own home. Not again.
Edouard sighed quietly. Despite his wishes to simply enjoy an easy conversation and a pleasant evening it wasn't going to happen. Instead it was going to be as awkward and uncomfortable as any conversation he'd ever had while he'd lived under the roof of the family manor. And there was a reason he no longer lived there.
It was at that point that Edouard realized that discretion was the better part of valour, and decided to say goodnight. It had been a long day and the following one looked like being even longer as it looked like he would have to hire new servants as well as once more report to the king that he had found nothing at the site. He was getting tired of that as well.
In time he thought as he climbed the stairs, all this would be done with. The mammoths would be safe in their new home, the women could return to their temple, and life could return to how it had been. Boring perhaps as he found himself alon
e with his thoughts once more. But easy. He didn't have to worry about what he said. He didn't have to mind his manners. He yearned for those simpler times and he knew they would soon be returning.
It was simply a matter of time until he could once more return to his life of quiet uselessness.
Chapter Ten
“What now?”
Edouard was beginning to wonder as he heard the alarm bell ringing, if he was ever going to get any sleep again. If it wasn't one thing it seemed to be another of late. But still, all his grumbling didn't keep him from pulling on his robe and slippers and heading out to the upstairs landing where everyone had gathered. And more importantly to where he could see the crystals shining in their frame above the front door that told him what was happening. The system of trip wires and bells had been installed centuries before when the fort was still in use, and the only change he'd made was to add in a few enchanted fire crystals so that he could see the alarm in the dark.
“Fire?” Mara asked the obvious question.
“Perimeter alarm,” Edouard corrected her. “Someone's approaching the holding through the wilds.” And that could only mean trouble. Brigands maybe. But at least if the ground wasn't shaking and he couldn't hear whistling, he knew it didn't mean stampeding mammoths. He doubted that the fort would hold against them even half as long as the city had.
“So what do we do?” Mara asked, but he didn't have time to explain. Instead he quickly led them back along the upstairs hallway to the small round sitting room in the middle where a hooked pole was hanging from the wall. He used that to grab the handle of the ceiling hatch and pull it down, letting the collapsible staircase open up. After that it was a short climb to the bottom of the tower, and the handful of heavy muskets he kept hanging from the walls. His weapons of course; not the light weight weapons they gave to guards.
He grabbed a couple for himself – surprised as always by their weight, but four barrels weighed more than one – and got the women to grab another one each. He also picked up a brace of pistols, just in case. Then they began climbing up the circular staircase to the tower's parapet. It was a long walk but necessary. From there they could look out over the surrounding countryside to see who was approaching.
It was a hurried climb, not least because he had no idea who would approach from the wildlands behind the fort. It was an inhospitable land, full of scrub and rock and deep holes, and he'd been intending for years to level it and plant it with grass. Perhaps he would one day, and then run a couple of mountain sheep on it. He'd just never got around to it. Like so many things it was simply on his list of things to do. But maybe it should be bumped a few places up. There was a security matter involved. The wilds were not the direction from which visitors would come. But it was the direction from which assassins and thieves in the night might, which was why the system had been installed in the first place. And knocking down the scrub would make it easier to spot unwelcome visitors heading through it.
“I can't see anything.”
Of course being night time, simply standing in the lookout tower wasn't going to tell them who was approaching. But Edouard had that under control as well despite the handmaiden's worries. A single spark sent into the gas of the central lamp caused it to give off a fierce white light that would have blinded them had he not directed them to cover their eyes. But when he used the chains to lift the lamp up into its mirrored housing high above their heads, that light was focused into a beam that could be directed at the surroundings. A light that would quickly find their intruders. Some days there were advantages to being an arcanist.
He began playing the beam of light over the surrounding scrub and bush behind the fort, trying to find out who was approaching. At first though it seemed futile. He couldn't see anyone nearby. Just a bunch of small twisted trees, their black forms silhouetted against the circle of greenery behind them. Then the trees moved and he suddenly understood as the blood drained from his body that they weren't trees at all.
“Sprigs!”
A chill ran down Edouard's spine at the word. He couldn't actually believe it, even when it was one of the handmaidens who was the one to actually name them. Sprigs were almost mythical creatures from easily two thousand leagues to the west. And while he didn’t want to believe it could really be them the creatures were unmistakeable. Made entirely of branches the creatures had too many limbs to be anything else. Each shoulder or hip had up to three or four branch like limbs growing from it, and somehow they moved across one another in an awkward, jerky sort of movement that reminded him of spiders. They were also headless. It was that that truly frightened him. Every living creature had a head. But not sprigs. They had no eyes, no ears and no mouths. Not that they seemed to care.
Sprigs were deadly. They looked awkward and moved slowly, in strange jerking movements, and their many ‘limbs’ bent and twisted, making their enemies imagine they were crippled in some way. But that would be a mistake. Despite their peculiar gait they were a formidable foe. They were tough to kill, only really stopping when their bodies or trunks were broken in half. They could climb walls without the need for ladders, and break down doors. And they were armed. Well armed. The tip of each stick like limb was sharpened and fire hardened. If they got too close to a man, those pointed spears they had for arms and legs would strike out and punch right through toughened steel plate and then of course through the soft flesh within. A man in armour with a sword could not stand toe to toe with them and win.
Swinging the lantern around to shine the light on them, he guessed that there had to be at least twenty of the creatures advancing on them. A raiding party.
Worse than that, the front gate was open. He seldom closed it and never locked it. It was just lucky that the sprigs had made their approach from the wilds and so hadn't seen it. But even so if one of them even thought to go around to the front, they could walk right in. He couldn't let that happen.
It was just a pity he couldn't use his magic on them – though that had been his first thought. A good hot fireball would have taken them all. But they wouldn't have burnt quickly enough. They would have burnt slowly like logs in the fire, and the last thing he needed was a bunch of sprigs burning brightly, crawling over the walls and setting his home on fire. This would have to be done the more mundane way.
Quickly he slotted the first huge four barrel muskets into the tripod he'd designed to hold its weight, and took aim at the nearest. Then with a whispered word and a touch of magic, he pulled the first trigger.
The roar of the weapon was staggering in the still night, and the stream of fire that sprayed from its barrel for a good ten or twelve feet lit up the darkness. But he'd expected that, and didn't pay it much attention even though the handmaidens jumped back in alarm. What he did pay attention to was the distant sprig he'd shot at. He'd hit it directly and the bullet had torn its trunk – he wasn't completely sure what the appropriate term was – completely in half. Blood or sap or some other dark fluid leaked from the broken ends of the wound as it fell to the ground and he congratulated himself on the shot. The sprig was down and unlikely to get up again any time soon. But there were still a score or more of them approaching, coming closer with every heartbeat.
“What was that?”
The handmaiden sounded shocked even through the ringing in his ears. But Edouard didn't have time to answer his guests as he took sight on the next sprig and squeezed the trigger again. This time his aim was not quite as good and the shot ripped through what would have been a shoulder in a man, ripping off some of its arms. The impact knocked the creature back, and if it had been a man the loss of so much tissue would have killed it outright. But it didn't, and little by little the sprig started crawling its way back up to its feet. It was off balance and even more awkward than before with three missing arms, but still deadly.
His third shot tore another of the creatures in half, and he knew a moment of satisfaction as he watched the creature fall down in pieces and stop moving. It might not be dead – o
nly incinerating them in the morning would make certain of that – but it wasn't a threat any longer.
The weapons he'd built were powerful even before he added his spark to the shots. The steel balls could crack stone at a hundred paces, and a man in even the heaviest plate might as well be naked.
The fourth shot was another flesh wound – if the sprigs could be said to have flesh. But at least the creature was knocked back a step or two, and when it tried to move again it limped badly with some of its legs missing.
“Reload.” Edouard yelled the order at the others even as he handed Mara the empty gun and reached for the next. He didn't even know if the women knew how to reload such a weapon. They weren't exactly single shot pistols which most people were familiar with. Still, Kyriel took the gun from her sister and pulled the rod from its clip, and he had to hope. For his part he just had to keep shooting.
Four more shots hit the sprigs with varying degrees of success. He didn't miss, his aim was better than that, but finding a vital target on a creature made out of twigs and branches was guesswork at best.